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"Come to bed!" shouted Jill, "you'll get struck, and then that will kill
me."
I went back to bed, for I didn't know what else to do, and we crawled
down under the clothes and covered ourselves all up.
"W-would--you--call--Aunt--John?" asked Jill. He was most choked. I came
up for air.
"No," said I, "I don't think I'd call Aunt John." I should have liked to
call her by that time, but then I should have felt ashamed.
"I s'pose she has got her hands full with Miss Croaky, anyway,"
chattered Jill, bobbing up and under again. By that time the storm was
the worst storm I had ever seen in my life. It grew worse and
worse--thunder, lightning, and wind--wind, lightning, and thunder; rain
and roar and awfulness. I don't know how to tell how awful it was.
In the middle of the biggest peal we'd had yet, up jumped Jill. "Jack!"
said he, "that comet!" I'd never thought of the comet till that minute;
I felt an ugly feeling and cold all over. "It is the comet!" said Jill.
"It is the day of judgment, Jack."
Then it happened.


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